Indiana Jones and the Ghost of Shaka Zulu
by Dusty Fedora
Summary: Indy tracks down the weapon that killed Shaka Zulu to save his Dad and his friends.


Indiana Jones and the Ghost of Shaka Zulu

New York, 1940  
  
Taking over for Marcus Brody hadn't been easy. The late curator of The Museum of Natural History had bequeathed his title less than two weeks ago and already Dr. Indiana Jones was scrambling to stay on top of the paperwork. The surface of his huge, antique oak desk was invisible under the volumes of requests for discounts and requests for pieces for other exhibits. On top of it all were the papers concerning the international transportation laws, fees and royalty demands for the second largest bird exhibit in the world coming from South Africa. Christ, didn't anybody like to share anymore? He took his glasses off and pinched the bridge of his nose in an effort to kill the roots of a headache that was forming there. No wonder Marcus had always been so frazzled.

  
The eThekwini Museum in Durban also wanted to piggyback what they were referring to as "a fantastic collection of Zulu warrior artifacts," and, while Indy had no doubt as to the truth of that, he couldn't see it being worth the double royalties they were asking for. They didn't even display it in their own museum! Furthermore, they insisted that each exhibit have its own plane! The pretentiousness made his nostrils flare and his lip curl.

  
He was pacing around countless uncataloged items, looking for something new he could break and replace, when a quick, chipper knock rattled the frosted glass in his office door. The silhouette bouncing in place gave away who it was and why Irene hadn't buzzed him.

  
"Come in," he said with a sigh, sitting back down at his desk. The door opened a just a little. A bald, spectacled head underscored by a trimmed, peppered beard peeked in and spoke with a throaty British accent.

  
"Junior? Are you busy?"

  
"Yes, sir, I am, but it'll wait. Come in."

  
"Well, I don't mean to disturb you," Dr. Henry Jones Sr. said, entering the familiar office and shutting the door behind him. Since returning from their Grail adventure last year, Indy and his dad were growing more into a father and son than they ever had been. In the last weeks before Marcus passed away, they had seen each other at the hospital almost constantly. Marcus' last wish to Indy was that he be a good son to his father. He got the feeling that Marcus had said something similar to his dad.

  
"I thought you'd be in class today," Indy said.

  
"No, no, my boy. No class for me on Fridays."

  
"So, what brings you out of Jersey? You want to get some lunch?" Indy glanced at the wall clock and realized he hadn't wound it this morning. That's okay, he hated that cuckoo bird anyway.

  
Henry was standing next to his son beaming, his face an even mix of wrinkles and teeth. "The museum's throwing a welcoming party for you next Friday." He clapped Indy's shoulder and laughed openly.

  
Indy blanched. He had expected the party, of course, but no official announcement had been made. The date certainly hadn't been set last he'd heard. And why was "next Friday" sticking in his head? Henry read the question on Indy's face as surprise. He smiled.

  
"Contacts," he said as he sat down in the guest chair on the other side of the desk. "Junior."   
Indy grumbled. Not because his dad still called him Junior against his will, but because he knew where this was going.

  
"Perhaps all of your moving around has cost you some information supply lines, eh?"

  
Henry had become enamored of the reckless and often covert lifestyle his son sometimes related to him over meals. Having survived the greatest adventure either of them had ever been on, Henry felt duly qualified to espouse his "connections" and international traveler know-how, even in the most remote instances. Just to let "Junior" know that the old man still had it.  
"Not at my own museum," Indy answered.

  
Henry merely laughed at his son's impudence.

  
"You're a little excited about this party, aren't you?" Indy asked. "Driving all the way up here to tell me that."

  
"Well, it will coincide with the Grand Re-opening."

  
_Of course!_ Indy silently cursed himself for the umpteenth time that day for not staying on top of the museum's affairs. How could he have forgotten _that?_

  
"Too bad Marcus will miss it," Henry continued. "He suffered these renovations for two years."

  
"Yeah. Well, he's not suffering anything anymore."

  
"True enough," Henry said, nodding.

  
Indy's brow pinched as something else came rushing back to him suddenly. "Wait a minute- the Avian exhibit opens the year..." He grabbed the papers that had confounded him so badly before and his headache returned instantly.

  
"At least Dr. Saviougn will be there," Henry added, not quite under is breath.

  
"The ship date was yesterday! How long has this been here? Jesus-" He caught himself and glanced at his father. What Indy had referred to in his youth as "The Bug- Eyed Stare" met him. It was a facial posture that bespoke serious consequences if the offensive behavior that spawned it didn't cease immediately. Indy lapsed into his time- honored tradition of changing the subject at this moment. "Dr. Saviougn the ornithologist?"

  
A sly smile from Henry.

  
"Your contact?"

  
"A little more than that." The smile turned into a smirk.

  
"Am I going to turn into a dirty old man, too?"

  
"Well, that depends entirely on your performance in the next twenty-five years."

  
Indy shook his head a little.

  
"What about Michael's for lunch?" Henry asked.

  
"Sorry, I gotta get on the phone... or a plane. I've got to get this exhibit in."

  
Henry leaned forward with a question wrinkling his sizeable forehead. "The exhibit's not here?"

  
"No. Apparently, Marcus was wrangling with them about these absurd flight plans and this ridiculous money they want. I think I'm just going to have to go down there and get it myself."

  
"Now?"

  
"...Yes."

  
"But, I have to pack."

  
Pause.  
"Dad-"

  
"Have you ever negotiated with a hostile museum before?"

  
"Hostile museum? Aren't those terms mutually exclusive?"

  
"Certainly not. You're going to need an experienced negotiator."

  
Indy laughed. "What qualifies you?"

  
"Negotiation is an art, Junior. Knowing how to do it tactfully will get you all sorts of things."

  
"Like Dr. Saviougn?"

  
Henry smiled, stood and buttoned his tweed jacket. "You always were a quick study."

  
Indy chuckled to himself. Truthfully, he knew almost nothing about negotiating a thing like this. If his dad could even fake it, he'd be doing better than Indy. Henry stopped in the doorway.

  
"I'll meet you at the airport in two hours."  
  
Henry didn't come alone. Using him as a shield against the biting November wind whipping across the tarmac was a busty, smartly-coiffed raven- haired beauty about fifteen years younger than he was. She was dressed in a teal-ish skirt and coat, which drew immediate attention to her eyes. Indy couldn't tell if they were blue or green. The younger Dr. Jones was dressed for museum business in his favorite gray suit with matching fedora and Henry, as always, was in his tweeds and khakis- the only clothing he ever wore out of the house.

  
"Dr. Saviougn, I presume?" Indy said, holding out his hand for a handshake. 

  
"You presume correctly," the lady replied, holding her hand out palm down. Indy took it and quickly removed his hat. 

  
"I often do," he said with a grin, bent close to her knuckles. She smirked and regained her hand.

  
"But you can call me Elise."

  
"And you can call me Indiana."

  
"I thought there might be room for one more on the plane," Henry said. "Especially for someone so interested in the birds we'll be bringing back."

  
"Whatever improves the scenery."

  
Saviougn cocked an eyebrow. "You really are the rascal your father said you were."

  
Indy looked sideways at Henry, who only adjusted his bow tie in response. Standing aside and sweeping his arm towards the roll-away stairs, Indy directed his two travelling companions onto the chartered cargo plane. He let them strap themselves in for takeoff while he climbed into the co- pilot's seat. Their pilot was a cover-all clad Jersey native named Bruce who saw flying planes as a way to see the world, not to get out into it. He'd had enough of that in the war. As a consequence of this rooting, Bruce had worked for the museum for years and knew of Indy long before they'd actually met in Marcus' hospital room. Now, the pilot scratched his unshaven chin and pushed his dirty White Sox cap up on his head so he could read Indy better.

  
"Door?" he asked.

  
"Secure, Captain."

  
Bruce started the engines. "Okay, then!"  
  
From the small airport outside Hoboken, The Jones' and Elise Saviougn headed south to Brazil. There, they spent the night in a nice (but no_t expensiv_e) hotel, so Bruce and Indy could rest and the plane could get refueled. The next day, hours and daylight slipped past them as they headed southeast towards Durban. Saturday was almost gone when they got there, but even at the late hour, Indy managed to get them a hotel just up the street from the museum.   
  
That night, Indy, Bruce, Henry and Elise sat around a cocktail table in the hotel bar, watching the full moon's reflection in the Indian Ocean waver like a desert mirage. The water was hardly the only thing being reflected upon. All four of the table's occupants had been to Africa at various points in their lives and the gathering was rife with stories. Bruce had flown all over Africa for different reasons- even right into Cairo several years ago, not long after Indy had been there "on a government project." Henry's lecture tour in the early part of the century had brought him to the southern tip of the continent as far as Cape Town on the opposite coast. Elise had once been to the Congo basin, farther north, as part of a group of tropical bird-watchers. Indy hadn't been this far south since the first World War when he was fighting for the Belgian Army and had hooked up with Captain Selous and the 25th Royal Fusiliers. Even then, he'd never actually been in _this_ city. Durban was a new experience for all of them and Indy used that as an excuse to flag their waiter so they could order a fifth round_._

  
"Oh, no, I really shouldn't," Elise said.

  
"Oh, c'mon, Doctor," Bruce said. "You want to keep up with the Jones', don't you?"

  
Indy groaned. "I think she only wants to keep up with one."

  
Bruce chuckled.

  
"Perhaps the lady merely prefers men whose manners don't elude them after a few drinks," Henry said, visibly bordering on The Bug- Eyed Stare.

  
The two straightened up immediately. Bruce cleared his throat.

  
"Sorry, Elise," Indy said. Dr. Saviougn fought off a smirk. Their freshly-starched waiter appeared then. He was a very thin man in his early twenties and his skin was the color of creamy chocolate. His English was clipped and exotically thick.

  
"Would you like something more to drink, my friends?"

  
"I would," said Elise. "In fact, I think it's time we all switched over to my favorite drink. Whiskey Doubles. Straight."

  
The boys winced.  
  
eThekwini was the Zulu name for what would one day be known as Durban. This was back when it was a natural lagoon harbor- before the white colonists industrialized it and built things like the drydocks, the hotels and the warehouse that would eventually be named The eThekwini Museum. Despite the fact that it sported a Zulu name, it was a typical white South African- run establishment. The exhibits were made up entirely of memorabilia from the Anglo side of the Anglo - Zulu War. A few ox hide shields crossed with short spears were mounted as backdrops to displays of the English sacrifice in extending the reign of Queen Victoria. Indy and his entourage stood at the velvet ropes around a mounted Gaitlin Gun, not really looking at it. They were all anxious to get the curator to go get breakfast with them, so they could start getting rid of their hangovers. They were still dressed in the clothes they'd worn yesterday and passed out in last night. 

  
A thick, aging man wearing sideburns his Victorian grandfather (though no one in the last fifty years) would have found aesthetically pleasing walked up behind the group and stopped. "Doctor Jones?"

  
"Yes?" Indy and Henry both answered, turning.

  
"Oh," the man smiled and clutched at the belly about to burst from his vest. "I didn't realize there were two of you. He shook Henry's hand. "I attended your lecture on the Canterbury Tales at Cape Town some years ago."

  
Henry brightened. "Really? Well, you must have been just a boy, then."

  
"Just out of finishing school," he smiled. "Which should have taught me to introduce myself first. Delks Dermlaf."

  
"Henry Jones." Introductions went all around and, as Indy had suspected upon seeing Mr. Dermlaf, they had no problem getting him to agree to breakfast.   
  
As soon as they stepped outside, Delks Dermlaf started sweating. 

  
"Spring is generally warm here," he said. "But this drought is making it rather unbearable. Summer is going to be absolute torture."

  
Indy thought this walk must be torture for him; he was already puffing heavily and they were barely across the cobblestone street. Even at this early hour, people choked the streets. Oxcarts hauled covered bundles. Africans both black, white and all shades in between walked the streets beside brightly dressed Hindu people. A few automobiles, mostly of European design, creeped through the city's throng. 

  
Dermlaf apologized for keeping them all waiting so long at the museum. There had been a break- in the night before that he was dealing with, and of all things, it was the Zulu exhibit he was sending with Indy that got pilfered.

  
"They didn't steal anything?" Henry asked.

  
"Not a thing."

  
"Doesn't sound like a very impressive display to me."

  
"I assure you, Doctor Jones, the displays will impress you greatly. We're actually testing a new method of display with the birds and the Zulu trophies. We want to make sure the public likes it before we set up Her Majesty's treasures in such a thing. You will see after breakfast. Ah! Here we are."

  
They had arrived at a little Dutch restaurant called The Holgenrhosk. They were seated by a waiter much darker of skin than the man who waited on them at the hotel, but he was equally thin. "How are you today, Mr. Dermlaf?"  
"Fatter than yesterday, Sisho, and glad for it!"

  
Delks laughed a little at what was obviously an old joke. Sisho smiled perfunctorally and led them up a flight of stairs, through a pair of French doors and onto a veranda with a gorgeous view of the city and, in the distance, the Drakensberg Mountains- The Dragon Mountains. They sat on three sides of a rectangular table against the railing, with Indy and Delks at either end. Delks ordered them all coffee and rusks- hard, hearty biscuits- to start the meal off with. When Sisho left them, Indy turned from the mountains to face the other curator.

  
"So, someone went through all the trouble of breaking into the museum, opening the cases-"

  
"Oh, no, they weren't in cases. We had no indication from you that you accepted our proposal, so we haven't boxed anything up yet."

  
Indy gritted his teeth. How could the museum be planning to open with an exhibit that hadn't even been ordered? "Okay, fine. They broke in just to look through some things that you don't even use?"

  
"Correct."

  
Henry felt his position as negotiator slipping away. "Did they break anything?" he asked.

  
"Nothing that can't be easily replaced. Whatever they were looking for, they didn't find. Makes me wonder how important it is, though."

  
Indy jumped on that remark. "Maybe it would be important enough to pay double royalties for an exhibit that you're just trying to test out on us." 

  
"And," Henry quickly added, "how can you demand two planes?"

  
"Gentlemen, please," Delks said, shutting his eyes. "As I have said, you will see for yourself after breakfast."  
Just then, Sisho brought them their coffee.  
  
Indy's mouth was full of banana wrapped in deep fried bread- a decidedly non-Dutch dish, against which his hangover had not stood a chance, when he glanced down to the street. He saw five thin, ebony men, their hands buried in the pockets of long coats, get out of a sedan, glance around furtively and walk towards the restaurant. The driver stayed in the car and kept it running. Still chewing, Indy decided to go peek down the stairs to see where Sisho would seat them- and how long they'd stay. Sisho, however, was in front of Indy the moment he stood up from the table.

  
"Do you need something, my friend?" Did he look... worried?

  
"Washroom," Indy said into his hand.

  
"Oh, the washroom, it is broken, the plumbing is old. I will get the check for you." He was pushing Indy back towards his table. Indy went, just to get Sisho to leave him alone. 

He watched the concierge hurry down the stairs, then swallowed the last of his breakfast. "Everybody up."

  
Bruce and Henry caught the urgency in Indy's voice and were up immediately. Delks' chins wobbled in confusion. Elise wiped her mouth and got up obligingly. 

  
"What's going on, Junior?"

  
"We're leaving."

  
"Pshaw!" Delks said. He was about to say more, but Indy was next to him suddenly, flipping the table up on it's side and crouching behind it. Plates and silverware crashed to the floor. Indy instinctively reached for his gun, but realized he wasn't wearing his adventuring gear. 

  
"Elise..." Henry said, taking her hand as the five men entered the dining room.

  
"Over the balcony- NOW!"Indy yelled.

  
Gunshots rang out. Single shots- revolvers, Indy deduced. Glass flew and pieces of the wooden table splintered out between Indy and Delks, who flopped out of his chair behind the barricade. Henry and Elise were there in an instant. "Dad! Get them over the balcony! I'll draw their fire! Where's Bruce?"

  
Bruce was on the other side of the doorway that led out to the terrace. His arm had been cut by some glass, but he was okay. He had his snub-nosed revolver in his hand. The shots continued to pound the little table and rip holes through it. Bruce fired a few shots into the interior dining room, drawing the fire off the table long enough for Henry and Elise to get to the other side of the railing and start down. Indy took the opportunity to break a leg off the table and heft it like a club. Across the patio, Bruce looked at him comically and shook his head. The shots stopped and the gunmen began arguing among themselves- no doubt about venturing out onto the terrace. Indy belly-crawled around the table and up to the low brick wall that served as the bottom border for the dining room windows. Bruce inched himself into a standing position, as he had more wall than window on his side. He left his revolver on the ground next to his foot and kicked it over to Indy. The motion past the doorway caused another round of shots, but the gun slid right into Indy's hands. Indy indicated the table leg and cocked an eyebrow. Bruce smiled and shook his head. 

  
"Dr. Jones?" It was Delks. He was still behind the table. Getting up and over the railing was going to be a little more difficult for him than it had been for Henry and Elise. Indy didn't want to answer him and give away his position. Delks whimpered. Indy balled up into a crouch position.

  
The first of the five men stopped just shy of the terrace door. He knew the return fire had come from Bruce's side, so he was inching towards Indy's side to get a better angle on the shooter. Indy stood, spun and fired into the doorway, shooting the man in the head as he tried to bring his gun to bear on his new assailant. Indy continued his spin back down into a crouch and drew up his shoulders as more gunfire erupted and glass and flecks of brick flew past him and bounced off his hat. The shots ceased again, just as one of the gunmen stepped out and drew a bead on him. Bruce quickly spun the man around and put a fist in his jaw, sending him back into Indy. Indy yanked the man to the floor and pummeled him as more shots rang out. 

  
The small clicking of empty weapons made everyone freeze. The battle had turned. Indy grabbed the gunman's weapon and tossed Bruce's back to him. Together, they stepped out of their hiding places, guns at face height, into an empty dining room.

  
"Dammit," Bruce said. He raced for the stairs.

  
Indy ran over to the rail. Delks was pale and quivering, but unhurt. Indy looked over the side to see the sedan peel away as it took on three passengers, including Sisho. Henry was lying on the cobbles, grappling with one of the men. When the man saw the car leave without him, he panicked, threw Henry off, got up and ran down the street. Indy jumped the rail with the full intent of chasing him down, but landing on the stone in his hard- soled dress shoes jarred his feet and his knees painfully. Indy grunted and fell to his rump. Elise appeared at the restaurant door, huddling with the round little restaurant owner.

  
The braying of European - style police sirens creeped into the air as Delks peeked over the balcony and whispered "Good heavens..." 

  
A shot rang out. Blood trickled out of Delks' mouth and the rotund Dutchman dropped to the terrace, revealing the man Indy had been pounding on. He had taken the gun from the man Indy had shot. The man turned hate- filled eyes on the younger Jones and levelled the gun at him. Indy held his breath.

  
Click. It was empty.

  
BLAM! The gunman's shoulder blossomed red as the force of the blast sent him over the railing and down onto his target. 

  
Indy's breath was gone and he couldn't fight, but as the man scrambled to disentangle himself, Henry yanked him up by his coat and decked him hard, knocking him to the pavement. The man was too disoriented to get up and run as the police cars screeched to a halt in front of the restaurant.

*****  
  
Indy inspected his hat. It would be nice to have the gray one stay crisp and neat. He could iron his suit, but the hat was wool- it'd get that sheen to it... That glass shard sticking through the brim ruined it, anyway. He pulled out the shard and tossed it to the street with the rest of the glass from the restaurant's terrace doors and ruefully put the hat on. Chief Inspector Reinhold was shaking Henry's hand, concluding the statement-taking. The man Bruce had shot- the one assailant they'd managed to capture- had been taken to a hospital where he would be under house arrest until he was well enough to travel to the jail. The restaurant owner hadn't said much other than touting Sisho's explemplary six years of service and peaceful manner. He was quite shocked and not a little afraid of the man, now.  
Dr. Elise Saviougn held onto Henry's arm as he made his way over to where Bruce and Indy were mumbling to each other. Bruce was reloading his gun after letting the constabulary inspect it. He put it back in his pocket. Bruce had carried a gun on him ever since his service in the Great War. He said he liked the feel of it on him.

  
"Have you decided what to do about the exhibit?" Henry asked.

  
"I'm going to get whoever's in charge now to sign off on a single royalty," Indy said. "I hate to take advantage of Delk's death, but we're getting out of here as soon as possible."

  
The party agreed silently. Henry watched his son- he could tell the man was thinking, and he knew WHAT he was thinking. 

  
"They're going to try to stop us," he said. "Whatever they didn't find in the museum, they thought Delks had it, or knew where it was. And they're going to think we know it now."

  
"Or have it," Indy said.

  
"What, though?" Bruce asked.

  
"Something that should have been in the Zulu exhibit but wasn't," Elise said.

  
"Correct," said Henry. "But why would they think a particular item _was_ in the exhibit when it was _not_?"

  
A none too subtle clearing of the throat turned everyone's attention to the Chief Inspector. "You gents (and lady) are free to go."

  
"How long do we have to stick around?" Indy asked.

  
"Oh, don't bother," Reinhold said. "I'm quite certain you weren't involved with the natives in this ploy. Have a good flight." With that, the Chief Inspector walked away. 

  
The group looked at each other. Indy had killed a man, Bruce had wounded another and they were being allowed to leave the country? This bothered them, certainly, but they all knew that "natives" in South Africa weren't considered citizens and, therefore, killing or maiming one didn't arouse any real suspicion from the prevailing white authorities. The Chief Inspector, at least, had no doubt that the gunman would tell all and Delks' attackers would be hanged- even Sisho, the exemplary host. The man Delks had known long enough to have a tired, running joke with. Why would he want Delks dead? ALL of them, for that matter...

  
Their mission, meanwhile, had not changed. They still had to get that avain exhibit back to New York, so they set off for the museum.  
  
Delks had been right about the exhibits. The design was simple and so logical, they were all stunned they hadn't thought of it. He used real trees! The trees were in huge dioramas with the birds in them. Museum visitors could look at this African tree against a painting of an African landscape and imagine all of these African birds in their natural habitats. Each bird had been handled by an expert taxidermist and mounted in one of various poses among the branches, along the trunk and some on the ground. Some had their wings spread and were poised for takeoff, a couple had puffed up for a battle, others were preening. There were seven to ten birds in each display and each was numbered. A legend was mounted on the front corner of the exhibit, giving the bird's name and a brief description. None of them had ever seen anything like it and for a while, they simply looked at it in the back corner of the museum's storage area. Dr. Saviougn finally broke the silence with laughter.

  
"This is... genius," she said, still gaping. The modern museum anywhere else in the world was still using the time- honored tradition of stuffing the birds in either a wings- folded stance, making the bird stand up by posts and wires, or mounted on their backs with their wings pinned to the wooden display backing.  
Bruce said "This'll make the museum a fortune..."

  
Indy smiled. Bruce was right of course. Delks had been right about the exhibit, too. It was huge. The dioramas were "L" shaped stage-like constructions mounted on lockable casters, so the exhibit could just be wheeled around and placed wherever they wanted it. An inverted "L" served as a cover for the display, so that it could be boxed and shipped intact.

  
"Mr. Dermlaff told us the exhibits weren'tready," Henry said. "These seem perfectly fit for travel."  
"They are," said Cheif Security Officer Reginal Helmsley. The rail- thin, pith helmet and khaki- clad Englishman was their guide through the museum storage facilities. The museum itself had been closed. "Dermlaff was planning to dismantle them all and ship them in pieces."

  
"Why?" Elsie asked. "These look pretty sturdy."

  
"So he could get double royalties," Indy said. 

  
"No, no," said Reginal. "They would actually take up _less_ space if broken apart and the tree limbs bound up and the backdrops, themselves, can be broken into panels and stacked. But the Zulu exhibit was to go as well, and... well, let's have a look, shall we?" 

  
Reginal motioned for the two white teenagers standing nearby to recover the exhibit, and said "Follow me."  
The Zulu displays were equally huge; half as tall, but three times as wide. The displays held ranks of sable, wooden warriors clad in fur, feathers and weaponry... and it had been wrecked. The dummies had been vandalized, their finery ripped off and some of the short spears they were all holding had been scattered. Several of the dummies were missing feet or a piece of leg and were lying on the floor- fallen soldiers among their bretheren. Standing proudly on a dramatic outcropping of fake rock was their weaponless leader, wearing only a battered crown of feathers and animal hair. Odd, thought Indy, he's the only one still wearing his headdress. Reginal continued...

  
"Dermlaf wanted each warrior boxed individually and the accoutrements sorted and boxed together by type. Again, the empty displays could be broken down and stacked."

  
"He'd have been _lucky _to get these on two planes, broken down or not," said Bruce. 

  
Indy hated to see a museum display so badly treated. "No indication what they were lookng for?"

  
"Well, in all of the displays, the headdresses and the weapons- spears in particular- had been tossed about, but they were all accounted for."

  
"Too bad," Elise said. "It's a great-looking display... or it _was_, at least."

  
Reginal tipped his helmet and bowed slightly. "If you'll forgive me, Doctor, you're quite a display yourself."

  
"Why, thank you, Chief Helmsley," she smirked. Henry clenched his jaw.

  
"Who do we talk to about the Avian exhibit?" he asked.  
  
Helmsley signed off on the shipment as the museum lawyer was at the police station with Dermalf's next of kin and the museum wouldn't appoint another curator until after the war. The single royalty for the Avian exhibit alone was agreed on and Bruce was dispatched to get two trucks to haul it to the airport. Indy was staring out the small window in the museum's front door when a native man wearing a long, draping brown robe approached the constables outside. An armed police guard had been posted at the museum since the attack this morning. 

  
"We're closed," the first constable said. The man asked him something in Zulu. "Closed..." the constable said again. The man walked away.  
  
Some time later, Indy checked his pocketwatch. It was half past two in the afternoon and the first truck had just been loaded. They were making great time. With any luck, they could be in the air late tonight. Indy yawned. Well, maybe tomorrow morning. At any rate, he was ready to get out of this suit. Elise was engrossing herself in the eThekwini's own avian exhibit, which had yet to utilize the diorama. Henry was engrossing himself in Elise's company. Bruce was pulling the first truck away from the dock to make room for the next one. Indy thought this would be a good time for a shower.  
  
When Indy stepped out of the bathroom, wearing only a towel, he realized that noise he'd heard had, in fact, _not_ been a couple next door. His room looked like the Zulu display- ransacked. A quick look around showed that nothing had been stolen, but everything had been looked through. Even the pockets on his old leather jacket had been turned inside out. His haversack had been dumped out on the bed, spilling only a small notebook, some pens and a few maps of the area. He picked up the phone to call the desk and the receiver came away cordless. A shuffling noise behind him twisted Indy around in time to see a little robed man dash out of the open door. It was the same man who had tried to get into the museum before! Indy dropped the phone and ran out into the hall after him.  
The man looked back quickly and, noting his pursuer, turned down the stairwell, nearly bowling over an old woman taking the steps one at a time. Indy was closing in on him, but the bouncing on the stairwell caused his towel to drop. The old woman gasped and covered her eyes. Indy turned around and grabbed his towel, trying to wrap it back around himself, but it was wet and wouldn't unfold. Hearing the man run through a door several floors below him, Indy gave up. He held the towel longways around his crotch and butt and hurried back to his room.  
  
Having dressed quickly into his "trouble clothes", his brown fedora, his old jacket and weapons of choice, he made for the museum as quickly as he could. He was too late, though. Before he even got out of the hotel lobby, he heard gunshots. By the time he got to the street, a full- fledged firefight had erupted at the museum. Indy thought of his friends and his dad. Fear gripped him and he ran towards the melee.  
  
While the constabulary in England was forbidden to carry weapons, the frontier/colony nature of South Africa was reason enough to discard this "homeland" practice and, therefore, each officer of the law was given a rifle or, in some cases, a revolver. Civilians, should they require a weapon, simply bought them from smugglers- which the port city of Durban was rife with. This gave them access to guns similar to the ones the police had as well as more powerful weapons. It was one such weapon - a long barrelled machine gun mounted in the back of a covered truck- that tore up the street in front of Indy as he reached the museum, causing him to dive into the alley separating the eThekwini Museum from the warehouse next door. Indy drew his revolver and inched toward the street, preparing to return fire. One of the transport trucks carrying the Avian exhibit passed by him. The machine gun that had fired on him was mounted in the back of it. Indy caught a glimpse of the man at the gun grappling with Bruce as Elise was restrained by another. She saw him and yelled "Indyyyyyyyy!"

  
Indy stepped from the alley, not believing that his friends were being captured when the deisel growl of the other truck swung his head around in time to see it barreling down on him. Indy stepped back into the alley and fired at the driver as the cab passed by. The glass in the door shattered, but the truck didn't stop. As the canvas covered back end zoomed past, Indy caught a glimpse of his father being held at riflepoint. Henry saw him and yelled "Junior!" The rifleman turned, saw Indy and fired at him, tearing a hunk out of the corner of the warehouse next door. Indy withdrew further into the alley, waited just a second, then looked back out in time to see the truck disappear around a corner.

  
Indy looked around for a chase vehicle, but saw none. At the front of the musem, several constables were dead or seriously wounded.The less severely wounded ones were tending to them. Sirens were closing in. He had only breifly studied a map of the city, but Indy knew that , if one was travelling away from the docks, one had to travel through the congested downtown area to get anywhere else. He should be able to catch them there. He holstered his gun and ran down the alley towards downtown Durban.  
  
Henry Jones Sr. wasn't necessarily surprised to see his son swing into the back of the truck and kick in the face of the guy who'd been holding a rifle on him. He was, instead, quite proud of his son and mentally patted himself on the back for being smart enough to recognize the value of resourcefulness he'd instilled, no- _passed on_ to Henry Jr.

  
"Dad? Are you alright?"

  
"I am, Junior. Nice job. Look out."

  
Indy ducked at the warning and just missed being punched in the face. He shouldered a right into the thin man's stomach and broke his nose with a left. Just to keep from being surprised again, he threw the man into the street among the ox carts, goat herds and pedestrians. Henry continued to sit on the truck bed and looked quizically at his son. "You know, they didn't even take anything from the Zulu exhibit."

  
Indy was trying to peek around the side of the truck to see if the driver could see him. "They looked through that already."

  
"But surely they don't want these birds... or us."

  
"Who cares what they want? Elise and Bruce are in the other truck. Now, I'll take out the driver of this one and then you follow the other one while I get Elise and Bruce out of there."

  
"Why don't we just find out what they want before they kill more people?"

  
"They might kill Elise and Bruce!"

  
"They might kill you, Junior! If they wanted to kill us, they would have done it at the museum. Why would they capture us?"

  
"To make us tell them where their prize is. And we don't _know_ where it is, so I'm going to save Elise and Bruce! And you're going to help me, come on."

  
Henry scowled. "And what then? They'll keep killing people until this "prize" of theirs turns up."

  
It was Indy's turn to scowl. He firmly believed that all of his father's research into chivalry was affecting his judgement, though he did see the plan here. "You're talking about helping them find it?"

  
"Who better?"

  
Indy opened his mouth to argue, but the idea that his father had almost paid him a compliment caused his voice to catch in his throat. 

  
"I mean, if we can find the Holy Grail, certainly we can find some tribal artifact." 

  
Indy looked at his feet. He had paid their _teamwork_ a compliment. He took a deep breath. It was certainly a less violent plan, but they didn't know where they were going, much less if their captors would agree to this plan. He looked sideways at his father. Henry stared evenly at Indy.

  
"The art of negotiation, my boy. Just let me handle it when we get there." He stretched his legs out, indicating that his mind was made up. 

  
Indy had been all over the world. He'd fought Germans in both World Wars, cult leaders, pirates, treasure hunters and all manner of thugs in the meantime, but he had never bested his father in a battle of reason and he knew that he would not break his streak now. Grudgingly, scowling despite his agreement, Indy sat down in the back of the transport truck as it carried them out of Durban and into the parched African countryside.

*****

Zebras. Indy didn't know that he'd ever actually seen live zebras before. Or live giraffes for that matter. But he'd seen bony, dying versions of both on the trip out of Durban. The ground itself turned to dust as the trucks rolled over it and the harsh sun turned the air into a wavering image more reminiscent of a pool's reflection. There were no pools here, though. Rain hadn't graced the soil here for thirteen months. The animals were slow and weak. Even the predators lazed about, too weak to hunt unless they were near starvation. 

  
Indy shook the sweat from his hair and replaced his hat. He sat back down on his coat and looked at his father. Henry Sr. had his eyes shut, but was hardly asleep on this bumpy ride. Indy had no doubt that his mind was off contemplating some philosophy on negotiation set down by a monk in a French monastery six hundred years ago...

  
The trucks began to pass huts of dried mud, wood and thatch. These were the dwellings of farmers whose crops had dried up and whose livestock were more of a burden than a boon these days. No one was outside. The shade of the hut was the only such refuge for miles around. Gradually, though, the huts appeared with more frequency until, finally, the trucks slowed as they entered a village. Indy grabbed his coat and put it on, despite the heat. He didn't want to lose it. Henry drew a dramatic, deep breath and stretched. As expected, when the drivers came around the back and the discovered the Jones' with their hands raised, there was much commotion and pointing of weapons. They were hauled roughly out of the truck and led forward where they were placed with Elise and Bruce, whose cheek was swelling to a nasty purple. They all had their hands up.

  
"Have a nice ride, Doctor?" Indy asked.

  
"They're going to kill us and you're making jokes?" Elise asked.

  
"They aren't going to kill us," Henry said. "But we're going to help them find what their looking for so they don't kill anyone else."

  
And with that, the group committed their lives to Henry. They were led at gunpoint through a gathering crowd of ebon-skinned, scantily clad men, women and children and into a hut twice the size of those around it. There was little light inside, but their eyes took only moments to adjust. The chattering throng outside fell silent as deep shadows took on recognizable forms. Body parts, human and animal, hung from the ceiling, having been dried and preserved. Several large masks hung along the walls. Three dogs were sitting up from their skeleton snacks and quietly eyeing the new arrivals. They looked almost as bony as their meals. On the opposite side of the hut from the doctors and Bruce, sitting on a zebra hide blanket with her legs crossed, was a woman of regal bearing. Even in the low light, the smooth sheen of flawless ebony skin caught the eyes of the group. Her hair was pulled tightly back against her head and bound into a bun with bone and ox hair. She wore several adornments that hugged her neck and several from each ear. A tight, curve- hugging shift of lion's skin completed her ensemble and she waited silently while the visitors absorbed her beauty and became intimidated by it.

  
After a few moments, the silence began to creep into uneasiness. Then, a familiar voice spoke behind Indy and his friends.

  
"Tarana is our witch," said Sisho. 

  
The group turned to face him. Indy kept one eye on their host. A witch? She was too young... too pretty... and why were they brought to her?

  
"Where is your king?" asked Henry, thinking the same thing.

  
"He is a politician who lives in the city. Tarana is handling this business," Sisho said. Tarana spoke then, asking a question that Sisho replied to quickly. The white Americans had no chance of deciphering the quick Zulu language, filled with clicks of the tongue and pops of the lips. They waited, suddenly dependant on Sisho, the man who'd organized Dermlaf's assassination (and their ATTEMPTED assassinations) at the cafe that very morning. Indy didn't like having no say-so in what was going on. None of them did, but waiting was the only choice they had. Finally, Sisho spoke to them.

  
"Despite the business at the cafe this morning, we have no wish to harm you, friends." Everyone raised at least one eyebrow to this. Henry smiled. "We do, however, have need of you."

  
"Ah!" said Henry to his friends. "You see, I told you they'd let us go find their prize for them!"

  
"Then you were only partly right, sir. We are going to keep you as prisoners - all except one of you, that is. One of you will, indeed, recover our prize, or all of you will die." Silence filled the hut. Indy, Bruce and Elise glared at Henry, who only looked back at them.

  
Indy and Bruce began sizing up the situation quickly, with the eyes of trained soldiers. There were three machine guns between them and the trucks. If they could keep these guys off Elise and Henry, they'd have a really good chance to escape. They both still had their guns on them. The dogs in the room sensed the sudden tension and began a low growl.

  
"Don't..." warned Henry. "We agreed before that helping them find whatever it is was best. Stick with the plan."  
"I'll go," Indy said quickly.

  
"Dammit, Jones," Bruce said. "I don't want to be holed up here waiting for you."

  
"Me, either," said Dr. Saviougn. "I thought I was here to look at a bird exhibit."

  
"You saw a bird exhibit," Indy said.

  
"Junior's our only hope," Henry put in. Indy was stunned - could it be? An actual compliment? "If anyone here can find out where it is, it's him or me. If anyone can go and get it, it's him."

  
Indy actually felt himself blush a little, but he turned back to Soshi before he got sappy at all. "So what, exactly, am I looking for?"

  
Soshi spoke to the witch only briefly and then led the group out of the hut, through the silent crowd and into a smaller hut nearby. Two machine guns were levelled at their backs at all times.

  
Inside the hut, on a small table, was a headdress like those worn by the Zulu mannequins in the display, only this one was more colorful, more decorative and obviously much older.

  
"This," said Sisho reverently, "is the Crest of Nkulunkulu. This _was_ recovered from the museum. Nkulunkulu is the creator of all things and does not deal in the affairs of men. Only our ancestors can talk to him. And only a witch can talk to our ancestors. The Crest was lost when King Cetswayo was betrayed by his kinsmen and turned over to the whites almost sixty years ago. He had the Crest in his possession along with with many items precious to our people, including the Spear of Zulu."

  
"You mean the original Zulu?" asked Henry. "That broke off from the southern Bantu in the Congo?"

  
"I do," Sisho said, nodding in approval at Henry's knowledge. "It is important that Tarana have both the Crest of Nkulunkulu and the Spear of Zulu in order to pray for rain for our dead land."

  
"She's going straight for the top," Elise commented.

  
"She must. She has to get over the head of King Shaka. He is the one who punishes us with this drought."

  
"Who?" asked Bruce.

  
"Shaka Zulu," Indy answered for Sisho. "The greatest military leader the Zulu nation ever had. He died over a hundred... and ten years ago after being stabbed to death by his two half- brothers."

  
"Talk about sibling rivalry," Bruce quipped. Nobody laughed. Sisho continued.

  
"The year before his brothers were forced to such action, Shaka's mother died. He had been very close to her and demanded that everyone in his kingdom feel his pain. People were slaughtered, cattle were killed so that even calves would know what it was like to lose a mother. It was forbidden to plant crops... people starved and died. If Dingaan and M'pande hadn't killed him, there would be none of us left."

  
"And now he's drying up the land?" Elise asked.

  
"After the last rainfall, Shaka himself appeared to Tarana and told her that the Zulus would be punished for losing the crest and the spear... and for letting themselves be banished to reservations. He could no longer stand back and watch his people wither. He would save his memory the indignity and turn us to dust."

  
"Does your king know about this?" asked Indy.

  
"He does. In fact, he has prayed for rain as is a king's duty, but his prayers go unanswered. Shaka's anger blocks them. Tarana must appeal to the old ancestors - Zulu himself, to ask Nkulunkulu to bring rain."

  
"And to talk to him, she needs his spear," Indy finished.

  
"Correct."

  
"So where is it?"

  
"It was the weapon used by Shaka's half- brothers to kill him. Each one striking him with it, so that the murder was one of family honor and not personal prejudice. Shaka's body was thrown into a grain pot. The pot was filled with stones and Dingaan and M'pande carried it away; to bury Shaka in the place where he had been most mighty."

  
"And where was that?" asked Henry.

  
"I don't know, but as I said, the spear was reported to be in the possession of King Cetswayo when he was betrayed. The eThikwini museum had it. We know they did."

  
"But you didn't find it when you broke in." Elise said.

  
"When THEY broke in. I am just a servant, madame."

  
"So maybe there's some record of it..." Bruce offered.

  
"That's what this Dr. Jones has to find out," Sisho said, clapping Indy on the shoulder. "I will go with you to get you around."

  
"You'll be arrested as soon as you set foot in the city."

  
"A simple disguise will fix that. They don't pay enough attention to us to recognize us on sight."

  
Henry managed to convince Sisho to consider them guests of the Zulu nation, since Indy was performing a service for them. As such, they were allowed to roam the village and eat the communal dinner - goat. There was nothing but dry African plateau for miles in every direction, so the idea of escape was ludicrous. They'd be dead of exhaustion or fall to the starving predators long before they got to Durban. Sisho allowed them to sleep in his hut, which was rather cramped with Sisho, his wife, three kids and four Americans, but sleep came eventually.  
  
Sisho roused Indy early the next morning. His "disguise" was a blanket thrown over himself in the manner of an old woman. He smiled conspiratorially at Indy, who just looked sideways at him. They boarded an old, dirty bus along with laborers from the village, who were taken into Durban daily by such means. Indy and Sisho sat at the back and slept as much as the bumpy ride would allow them to.

  
Once in the city, they made their way to the eThikwini museum. Sisho had expounded on how he had overheard Delks Dermlaf talking about having secured the haul from King Cetswayo a few months ago. He had told his kinsmen that fortune had smiled on them and the crest and the spear would be theirs again soon. They had originally asked for the two items, only to have Dermlaf refuse. They had tried to pool their resources and buy them, but that, too, failed. There were even rumors that Tarana had cast spells on him and gotten a warlock acquaintance to do the same, but the spells proved ineffective. Dermlaff was not giving the pieces up. It then fell to Sisho to eavesdrop on Dermlaff when he came to the cafe and find out where the pieces were stored. An out and out theft was in order. What Sisho heard, however, was that the pieces were being shipped to the United States. The next day, Tarana had ordered Dermlaff and the arriving Americans slain to keep the pieces where they were, as the robbery had only produced one of them. 

  
Indy didn't believe getting these items would improve the forecast, but what he believed mattered little. The village was holding his family, friends and the avian exhibit hostage. He would have to find this spear and then get out of Durban before that witch could think of something else to blame the drought on. Shaka Zulu's wrath... please. 

  
Sisho ducked onto a side street a few blocks up from the museum and Indy continued on into a dense security check. Chief Inspector Reinhold battered him with questions. What had happened? Where had he been? How many of them were there and where did they go? Indy was afraid to answer. If Reinhold drove out towards that village, his dad and friends would be killed as soon as someone spotted their dust cloud crawling across the plain. He said only that his companions were hostages and that he needed to look through Dermlaff's records for something to get them back.

  
"You ARE in league with them, then?" Reinhold asked, his voice rising an octave.

  
"No!" Indy insisted. "Look, I have to find what it was they were looking for when they showed up yesterday."

  
"They killed four of my men! Crictically wounded another three and you think I'm going to let YOU handle this!?" 

  
Indy stood on his toes to put the brim of his fedora to the tip of Reinhold's pith helmet.

  
"Listen, if my dad gets killed because of you, I'll put my fist so far down your throat you'll have to collect your teeth out of your other end. Get it?" 

  
Reinhold blanched.

  
Indy stalked up the stairs and into the front door. Reinhold followed him, seething.

*****

Sisho fell in alongside Indy as he left the eThekwini museum three hours after going in.

  
"You don't have the spear," the blanket- clad Zulu observed.

  
"No, but I think I know who does," Indy said. "A... L'Araan Swakaywe purchased some items from the museum several weeks ago, including ..." he pulled a receipt copy from his pocket and unfolded it. "...several pieces from a collection of weaponry that had been donated years before. The weapons were surplus originally confiscated by Lord Chelmsford - the leader of the British Army when it defeated the Zulus. A Major Marter was under his command and led the group that actually captured King Cetswayo. Marter would have presented all confiscated items to his commander, so the spear my be in there. I just hope Swakaywe isn't too attatched to it."

  
"That would be a problem..." Sisho agreed. "But it's not like he can't afford other spears to replace that one."

  
"You know him?"

  
"Of course. He owns the Snake Park."

  
Sisho glanced ahead of them, avoided a protruding cobble and then realized that Indy was no longer beside him. He glanced back to find the doctor standing quite still with a hollow look about him.

  
"Did you say Snake Park?" Indy asked.

  
"Yes," laughed Sisho. "You did not hear of the Snake Park? Swakaywe has brought the largest collection of poisonous snakes in the world to Durban."

  
Indy sighed through his nose and put his hands on his hips. He looked at his feet.

  
"It is a major tourist attraction." Sisho offered, not clueing in to Indy's hesitancy.

  
"I assume his office is IN the park?"

  
"It is... Doctor Jones, you aren't... afraid of snakes, are you?"

  
"I have a healthy respect for them."

  
Sisho laughed. "They are all behind glass. There is nothing to fear."

  
That helped a little. Not much, really, but enough to get Indy's feet moving again.  
  
The Durban Snake Park was, indeed, quite impressive. Occupying a huge building girded with columns and turrets, the place gave off the impression of a museum more than a park. Indy had spent the entire twenty minute walk picturing a more traditional idea of a park - lush green grass, wild flowers, trees providing shade and some gentle hills... all covered in sliding, slithering bodies looking to make a meal out of him. The building calmed him a little more and Indy imagined he looked pretty collected.

  
"You look pretty nervous, Doctor Jones," Sisho said.

  
"Let's just get this over with," Indy answered, yanking open the front door. A muffled, reptilian hiss escaped the interior and froze him in the doorway. Goosebumps slid down his back. Indy swallowed hard, clenched his jaw and went inside.

  
Hundreds of display cases, some of them thirty feet long, lined the walls and were perched as islands in the center of the cavernous room. Those snakes closest to the entrance, licked the glass of their terrariums in vain attempts to smell the newcomers. Above them all, the absence of the middle of the second floor allowed a terrific view of a stained glass skylight depicting a winged serpent. The word "unholy" popped into Indy's head.

  
"This way," Sisho said, leading the doctor through a small door opposite the entrance. A short hallway brought them to a door made of solid glass with the word CURATOR on it. The office beyond was small, yet decorated with a curator's fervor. Every square inch of wall space was covered with masks and sculptures and hides and awards... and in the way of modern conveniences, only a large, flat- topped desk and it's occupant. 

  
L'Araan Swakaywe was a very old man. His gray beard poured over his slight chest and went almost all the way down to this belt. His spectacles, bald head and tweed jacket reminded Indy of his father and it occured to him that the two probably weren't so different. Except for that snake thing. 

  
Indy wasted no time getting down to business and explaining what he was looking for. Sisho translated for him. The old man eyed Sisho suspiciously, then glanced at Indy and asked a question. Sisho responded politely and patted Indy's shoulder. The old man eyed Indy and shook his head. He talked for several moments, shrugging and turning his palms up.

  
"He doesn't have it," Sisho translated. "Even if he had gotten any spears from the museum, he wouldn't know which one it would be."

  
Swakaywe began pointing at the pile of papers he was poring over on his desk and Indy felt for him. He hated that part of HIS job, too. Sisho thanked the man for his time and walked out into the "park" with Indy. Indy wanted very badly to just make a beeline for the door, but something caught his eye and made him stop.

  
"Sisho," he said. The walking blanket stopped and turned. "Didn't he just say he didn't get any weapons from the museum? Or does it not really translate?"

  
Sisho followed Indy's gaze and saw an open closet door. Inside, propped against the far wall were several short spears. 

  
"Lying translates into any language," he said grimly. 

  
Indy stepped into the closet and examined them. They were for the most part, identical. The Spear of Zulu would be a distinct weapon. Sisho took a turn examining the spears as well, but came to the same conclusion.

  
Forgetting (although not completely) that there were snakes about, Indy walked through the museum looking for other weapons. An English family with three children came in to view the reptiles. Sisho nodded courteously to them out of customer- service habit. Indy approached him a few moments later, towing a thin, black teenager - the greeter who's bathroom break Sisho was covering."Ask him if any of those are the Spear of Zulu."

Sisho talked for just a moment to the boy before shaking his head.

  
"What about one that was more decorative than the others?" Indy asked. "Made entirely out of metal, maybe. A spear that old would have to be metal if it was still around...or stone."

  
Sisho translated. The boy looked thoughtful for a moment and told Sisho that he had seen a magnificent stone spear head - too big for the spears used by the Zulus- in Swakaywe's office once several weeks ago, but he had not seen it since. Indy peeled off some money and handed it to the boy, who smiled his appreciation and bowed slightly. Indy and Sisho stepped outside.

  
"How many other magnificent spear heads could there be?" Indy asked, hoping Sisho was something of a historian.

  
"King Shaka destroyed all the old spears when he re-organized the armies for close combat," Soshi responded. "A large spear head would go on a long spear. A long spear that is still around can only be ceremonial. And if this one is as decorative as he said, then it could very well be it."

  
Indy grinned. Then, he frowned. "Swakaywe's too smart to give it to us, though. He knows what it's worth."

  
"Doctor Jones, there is something you must know about Swakaywe."

  
Indy braced himself for a really good reason he wasn't going to be able to steal the spear head.

  
"He is the sorcerer who helped Tarana cast spells on Dermlaff to make him sell the spear to her. If he has it, then he is working against Tarana. And now that he knows of our interest in it, we may be in danger."

  
Indy scoffed. "A sorcerer?"

  
"Laugh if you will, Doctor Jones. But if you're right, then Dermlaff did sell the spear to him."

  
"He could have stolen it when he was there picking up his other things. I don't buy the hocus pocus."  
"Is that so?"

  
"Yeah, that's so."

  
"How old do you think Tarana is?"

  
Indy paused. "Whatever I say, you're just going to say she's older."

  
"She's forty-five."

  
Indy chuckled. "No, she isn't. She's eighteen if she's a day."

  
"She is forty- five," Sisho said matter-of-factly.

  
Indy held up his hand and closed his eyes. All he had to do was get the spearhead to Tarana, however old she was, and he and his friends could go. Arguing the logistics of sorcery would be pointless. Indy handed the man some money and asked him to get some more information from the Greeter.   
  
Meanwhile, Henry and Elise were passing the time by making an anthropological study out of their stay in the Zulu village. They observed the division of chores and the pecking order of the young people. Bruce was learning camaflouge and hunting techniques from the men. Tarana made an occasional appearance, which brought everyone to a standstill. She would sniff the wind, dig in the dirt and cast haughty, threatening glances at her "guests." Henry thought she just liked the attention. Bruce wondered if she might want some company in that tent. No sooner had the thought escaped him than Tarana's dogs growled from the dark hut.

  
As the sun came to rest on the horizon, trailed by a brilliant orange sky, Elise caught the distant look on Henry's face.

"No, no. I stand by what I said before. That spear could be anywhere in the world and he'd find it. He found _me_ when I was a Nazi prisoner in Germany, did I ever tell you that?"

  
"No, you didn't," Elise said.

  
"He's a brave boy...man, I should say, I suppose. He's probably getting shot at, tied up or chasing somebody, but I'm sure he's fine. It happens to him all the time, actually."

  
Elise rubbed Henry's back. She could hear the lump forming in his throat. Suddenly, he chuckled.

  
"He's better off with out me tagging along anyway. I almost sent him over a cliff last time," he laughed. 

  
Elise watched Henry's face contort, twist and, ultimately, settle into resolve. "I just can't wait to hear how he found this one," he said.  
  
"Trial and error," Indy said, moving along to the next window. It had become his mantra for getting through this stage of his plan. They had no idea how to get into the place after it closed, but hiding with the snakes and getting locked in was ruled out. Again, he hoisted Sisho up and, again, the "humble servant" was unable to open the window.

  
"That's the entire ground floor," Sisho said, as Indy let him down. "How do we get up to the second floor?"  
Indy looked around. Dusk was rapidly turning into an inky night and details - the kind that might help them here, were being lost.. Indy COULD see, however, decorative iron grates over the turret windows that would provide a good handhold... or... 

  
With a graceful, powerful sweep, Indy arced his whip over and up, catching the ironworks firmly in a braided leather coil. He pulled himself up the whip and balanced on the iron works against the turret. He tried the outermost window, but couldn't get the blade of the steak knife (which he'd stolen from the cafe where they'd eaten lunch) up and into the workings of the window lock. He reversed his position, straddled the space between another set of iron works, and tried a side window. The knife fit easliy between the glass frames and the lock slid away. Indy dropped the knife to the ground, threw open the window and crawled inside. Sisho scampered up the whip and followed.  
They were inside a small room containing cages of mice and rats - snake food. The creatures had all been awakened by the intrusion and now squeaked irritably at the two men as they walked across and out of the room.When Sisho had asked the Greeter about the hours that the Park was open, he'd gotten the boy's entire speech about the place. The Durban Snake Park was open from nine until six every day except Sunday. The largest single collection of poisonous reptiles in the world took up the entire first floor and most of the second. While the Park was beneficiary of several families' charity, it gladly accepted donations in the Snake Park's name. Thank you for coming and have a good day. 

  
They had waited an hour after the place had closed before trying the windows - they'd need light outside for that part of the plan.

  
Now, at the commencement of part two of Indy's plan, the ex professor poked his head out into a hallway. Not really expecting anyone to be there, he only halfheartedly tried to be quiet and inconspicuous. He clomped across the marble floors, past more cases of legless reptiles that gave him the heeby-jeebies and over to the main staircase curving down to the first floor, where he made a beeline for the door to the hallway outside Swakaywe's office. With Sisho not far behind him, Indy turned the knob and was immediately knocked onto his back. A pair of large, dark dogs bounded over him. Indy put one arm up to bait any jaws that might go for his throat, but none came. He glanced over at Sisho to find him quite still in the middle of the room, in a circle of chalky moonlight under the stained glass roof. The dogs did not bark. They did not attack. They merely watched Sisho and were just as unearthly still as he was. Indy got to his feet and reached for his whip. Dammit! It was still outside! He put his hand on the butt of his gun. That would be more noise than he wanted to make, but if he had to...

  
"Sisho..." he said. The man did not answer. His dark eyes were terror stricken and glued to one of the dogs. After a moment, the other dog turned towards Indy. Its eyes were reflecting an amber light that didn't exist. It stared at Indy, moving to be in his line of sight when he tried to look away. That glow sure was difficult to ignore. He tried to call out to Sisho again and found that his voice would not respond. In fact, he could feel an icy stiffness crawling down his entire body. The hand on the butt of the gun was frozen already. He could still clench his left fist, though...maybe he could move his leg... change his position... The dog in front of him growled and sidestepped a little to stay in front... Sweat began to roll down Indy's face. He twitched, trying to break through his paralysis and lashed out with his closed fist. Glass shattered off to his left. He couldn't turn and look at it, but he knew he'd just opened one of the long cases that ran around the edge of the main room... one of the really big cases. He knew his hand would be bleeding. He KNEW the snake would smell it and come investigate. Fear gave Indy the control to pull his fist back to his body. The dog growled in concentration again; this time, freezing Indy in place. 

  
Slowly, the droning of Swakaywe's voice drifted from his office. He was too caught up in whatever he was doing to come investigate the breaking glass, Indy surmised. There had to be a way to shake it. Dogs couldn't DO this! He had to be missing someth-

  
All thought in Indiana Jones ceased as the snake crawled over his shoe. The sensation was one he hadn't felt in years and one that he had hoped to never feel again. It brought forth terrible images - nightmares of entanglement and strangulation. The snake began to wrap itself around Indy's leg and climb up... no doubt seeking the source of the blood. He thought about the wedge- shaped head holding bulging sacks of poison- potent enough to drop him...perhaps in seconds. He thought of the tongue, flicking... searching... the bristling scales clinging to his pants leg as it wound it's way up behind his knee.... The tickle of the snake's tongue on his fingers brought a growl from the dog as Indy's fear began to overpower the enchantment. The triangular head sliding into Indy's palm elicited a bark as the bond was broken. Indy blinked and looked down at the huge snake, but didn't move. Little more than half of it was wrapped around his leg. The rest trailed behind for several feet. The dog walked up to Indy, trying to get into his line of sight and the snake arched up out of Indy's hand to face it. Indy nearly wet himself. The snake being the immediate threat, the dog tried his paralyzing stare on it, but the snake continued to hiss and tightened its hold on Indy's leg, even wrapping its tail around Indy's ankle.

  
"...Sisho..." Indy said weakly. No answer. The dog and Sisho continued their staring contest. The snake took a shot at the dog challenging it and bit it on the nose. The pained yelp brought Sisho's dog's head around and Sisho blinked groggily. The snake reared up from Indy's knee as the other dog moved in to challenge it. Indy held his hands up like a cornered outlaw. The first dog was already shaking his poisoned head and trembling a little.

  
"Sisho!" Indy whispered. Sisho came awake quickly with a shake of the head and looked around for a weapon. He spotted Indy's revolver.

  
"Shoot it," Sisho whispered. This was a great idea, of course, but Indy was frozen. The thought of reaching down for his gun, of putting his hand in strike range, only made him shake his head.

  
"Just... get it!" 

  
Sisho trotted off towards the closet with the spears in it.

  
The second dog took a strike on the nose and yelped as well. It, too, backed away as its comrade dropped into convulsions. The snake calmed down as it (and Indy) watched the dogs die. Then, it dropped to the floor, releasing the petrified Doctor Jones, who backed away quickly, wiping sweat from his very pale face. The snake crawled over its conquests and began an intense inspection. Sisho finally reappeared with one of the short spears and stopped, seeing he was too late. 

  
"Still doubting our magic, Doctor Jones?" Sisho asked, serious despite the sarcasm.

  
Indy could still hear Swakaywe's voice beyond the door. "Come on," he said.

*****

Indy threw open the glass door to Swakaywe's office and balked. Large, painted eyes looked back at him from a five- feet tall mask that was standing in the corner of the room. Swkaywe's voice continued to roll out from behind it, unchanged by Indy and Sisho's arrival. Swakaywe was wearing the mask, of course. His spindly arms and legs protruded from the sides... and he was holding a spear. The shaft was new, naked wood, but the spearhead was very old stone with delicate swirls and geometric shapes covering it - this was it. 

  
Indy grabbed it and attempted to pull it out of Swakaywe's hand, but the old man's grip was good. Indy pulled back a fist and drove it between the mask's eyes, stopping the voice, dropping Swakaywe and freeing the spear. Indy turned to run out of the office, but Sisho was still standing in the doorway.

  
"Move it, Sisho!" Indy said. Then, he noticed the rather worried look about the man. Something out in the hallway bothered him. Indy looked and saw that the viper had left its canine conquests and was moving quickly down the hallway towards the office. Indy yanked Sisho backwards and shut the door.

  
Swakaywe mumbled something from the floor as Indy looked around for a window - there were none.

  
"Dr. Jones," Sisho said. "L'Araan says we'll kill everyone."

  
"Just the snake," Indy said, shifting his search to something more suited for killing snakes; like a flamethrower or dynamite... or a spear. Swakaywe continued to mumble from under the mask.

  
"He says Shaka's spirit will run loose if we take the spear from him."

  
"Well, I don't believe that, do I, Sisho?" Indy's sarcasm was followed by a quick flipping of the long spear to point it downwards. "Now, when I tell you to, open the door." 

Swakaywe's chatter continued.

  
"L'Araan says that he is only trying to contain him by invoking Zulu."

  
"Now!" Indy snapped. Sisho yanked the door open and Indy drove the spear down at the snake. The serpent was too quick, though, and dodged the attack, striking the blade before Indy could pull back. He stepped back inside and Sisho shut the door.

  
"Dammit," Indy said.

  
"Doctor Jones..." Sisho pleaded.

  
"Look, if he wanted to... control Shaka, why didn't he just let Tarana do it? Why did Dermlaff have to die? Why are my friends being held hostage? Wh- Hey-" Indy pointed to the snake, which had coiled up in a strike position on the other side of the glass. "Easier target," he said. "Now!"

  
Again, Sisho yanked the door open and, again, Indy lunged for the snake, this time, skewering it with the spear and chopping it in two in the process. Indy ducked back into the office and Sisho shut the door as the two halves of the snake flailed about, spraying the walls and the glass door with blood. Sisho spoke in Zulu to the curator, who had removed the mask and was getting to his feet. The response came and Sisho was oddly silent for a moment before barking back at Swakaywe who, in turn, snarled something at Sisho. The former concierge launched himself at Swakaywe then and the two tumbled to the floor, knocking the mask aside and falling against the desk, sliding it against the wall. Indy watched in perplexity for a moment as the men pounded on each other. Not wanting to waste anymore time, he pulled Sisho off and hauled Swakaywe up by his shirt. He pinned the old man against the wall.

  
"What'd he say, Sisho?"

  
"He said he brought Shaka back. The drought is his fault."

  
Swakaywe continued, now talking to Indy, as Sisho translated. "Only Shaka could return our dying, impoverished people to the power they had been. I tried to channel Shaka through me, but his will is too strong to be controlled. His anger at what his people had become was too great. Shaka refuses to return to the spirit world or do as I bid him. With the spear that killed him, though- the weapon that put him down once for the sake of his people- I will gain control of him and the Zulu nation will conquer South Africa again!"

  
"Why work against Tarana?" Indy asked.

  
"That child?" Swakaywe said through Sisho. "All she can do is talk to the ancestors, ask them to take Shaka back and relay their decisions. Only my magic can bind Shaka and use him."  
  
Indy didn't care. Already, he was chalking up his earlier paralysis to his fear of snakes. Hadn't he been paralyzed even AFTER he'd forgotten about the dog? "I'm taking this spear to Tarana," he said to Swakaywe through Sisho. "Once my friends are free, do whatever you want, but DON'T get in our way." He let the sorcerer go and held the door open for Sisho. 

Swakaywe had one parting comment, but made no move to stop them. His expression was grave. Sisho didn't reply; he just walked out into the hallway and, avoiding the dead animals littering the place, left by the front door with Indy.  
  
The two sat at the same cafe table they'd eaten lunch at hours earlier. The sun was almost down and the bus was due any moment. They waited in the same silence that had accompanied them since they left the Snake Park. Sisho obviously didn't want to offer up what Swakaywe had said as they left and Indy wasn't sure he wanted to hear it. He'd seen enough in his life to understand that the belief in magic in the world wasn't entirely unfounded, but he wasn't paranoid about it. Besides, Swakaywe was talking about ghosts - spirits of _dead_ people. He'd never seen evidence of THAT type of magic... not _really_. After their coffee arrived, Indy pulled out the spearhead and examined it. It was three times the length of his hand and the snake's blood was staining the stone as it dried. Indy wiped it off with his napkin. 

  
"We'll need to get King Bonatom before we go," Sisho said suddenly. "He is the one who will ask for rain." He walked into the cafe to use their phone. A few moments later, he returned, saying that his Highness would arrive at the village in the morning.

  
"I tried to convince him to come tonight, but he would not. He doesn't believe these prayers will work anymore than the last ones."

  
"Neither do I, which is why I want to get my friends and our trucks out of there as fast as possible."

  
"I wouldn't reccomend driving across the plains at night, Doctor Jones. Even if you light the road, the animals will run in front of you because they will be able to see where they are going in the light."

  
"What about the bus?"

  
"It has no headlights to attract them."

  
"No lights?"

  
"He knows the way quite well."

  
Indy wasn't sure he trusted anybody quite THAT much. "Tomorrow morning, then," he said as their awaited bus pulled up nearby. "But I don't want to be here when it doesn't rain."

  
"I don't really know what to expect tomorrow," Sisho said as he and Indy walked to the corner. "L'Araan said we were setting free a power that would destroy us all."

  
Indy climbed onto the bus.  
  
The dark ride was roughly half over when the bus driver locked down the brakes. Everyone in the bus was caught off guard and thrown forward. When the momentum finally broke and the bus stopped, Indy peeled his face off the seat in front of him and stood up. He couldn't see anything, so he walked towards the front as the passengers began yelling at the bus driver, who was leaning over the steering wheel looking out into the darkness.  
Several pairs of orange eyes blocked the road ahead of them. More were circling the bus.

  
"Run over them," Indy said, looking to the bus driver, but the man was frozen just as Sisho had been in the Snake Park. Just as he, himself had been... but that was because of the snake... Indy drew his revolver and cranked the handle that opened the bus doors, cutting on the weak interior light. Keeping his feet inside the bus, he leaned out of the doors and fired. A yelp accompanied the dimming of a pair of orange dots. Using his peripheral vision to aim (just in case), he took out three more dogs before he was grabbed by his collar and yanked out of the bus.   
His feet dragged for a moment before he could get them under him and spin on his attacker. The man pulling him was no one he recognized, but by the light falling out of the bus, Indy could see a now familiar glaze to his eyes. The man reached for Indy's neck. Indy jumped back a step and whacked the man in the temple with the butt of his gun. The man staggered back.

  
"Doctor Jones!" Sisho called from inside the bus. Indy looked to him and followed his finger as it pointed out across the dark plain. The orange dots were circling him now. Being careful not to look directly at them, he took out two more, and then his gun was empty. He replaced his gun in his holster and began working his way back to the bus door. He had just started uncoiling his whip, when he was suddenly in the center of a spotlight.

  
Swakaywe's voice, not at all sounding like it could come out of his slight frame, boomed a single word across the plains and the dogs ceased their advance. The sorcerer appeared then, exiting the Jeep that the spotlight was mounted on and moving towards Indy. He spoke in Zulu and held his hand out. Indy smirked and put his fists up. If Swakaywe wanted the spear, he was going to have to fight for it. Seeing Indy's stance, Swakaywe uttered another command and a heavily muscled native man exited the vehicle as well. Swakaywe stepped back. This man, like the first man, who moved up next to him, had the zombie look about him. Behind them, the dogs grouped and formed a snarling rear rank, still trying to catch Indy's eye. 

  
The men inside the bus were all yelling at the bus driver. If all of the dogs were back here, then the driver would be leaving soon, with or without him.

  
Whip in hand, he reached the middle of the bus and prepared to make a break for the door.. When the first man moved towards him, Indy cracked the whip right across the bridge of his nose, hoping the shock would wake him up. The man staggered and blinked, but the enchantment was strong and did not release him. Indy coiled the whip up in his fist and stepped to the man, landing a good, solid right to his jaw. The man's head snapped sideways and, again, he faltered, but he could not feel what Indy was doing to him and continued to move forward. The second man had moved in also, and landed a sucker punch on Indy's cheek, which staggered him back against the bus. Indy turned to run for the door, but two dogs moved to block his way. He cracked his whip at them, but they, too, held their ground. Indy ducked a wild punch from the first man and yet another from the second. The bus suddenly lurched forward in first gear. 

  
"Doctor Jones!" Sisho yelled from inside the bus. Indy quickly arced his whip over the dogs, aiming for the folding arms that opened the door. His whip grabbed and he was instantly yanked over the heads of the canine threat. He landed hard and fell to his knees, though, and the whip came loose from the door. The bus groaned into second gear as the dogs behind him turned and gave chase. The spotlight tracked him. Indy let the whip dangle in his left hand and ran for the door. The dogs loped after him, closing the distance. 

  
Indy turned on the speed. The door was closer, closer... when the bus slowed to drop into third, he would jump for it.  
He was concentrating so hard on the door, that he almost didn't notice his new attacker until it was too late. Teeth, claws, a feline roar and slit green eyes appeared out of the darkness in front of him and Indy flopped to the ground to avoid them. The lioness sailed into the dog pack, killing one with a swipe of her claws and catching one in her jaws. The dogs immediately began to bark and attack the lioness and the spotlight moved from Indy to the new battle. Two more lioness', intent on the lit battle, ran past the still prone Jones. Indy got back up and ran behind the bus as the panicked driver closed the door, then chewed up the clutch looking for third gear. The bus riders continued to yell at the driver. Indy heard men scream back at the lioness' attack and suddenly, the spotlight was back on him. Indy watched his shadow run up the back of the bus as Sisho stared out at him, worry and encouragement on his face. Indy clenched his teeth, held onto his hat, threw his head back and willed his legs to pump faster as he slowly gained on the bus. Faster... faster... the bus was pulling away! Sisho opened the emergency back door and held out his hand. Indy was too far away to reach, though, and he was falling behind fast. He switched the whip over to his right hand. Sisho saw this and braced his feet and hands against either side of the doorway. Indy had to focus a narrow arc while running - not easy even when you aren't trying to jump onto a moving vehicle. Sisho willingly let the whip wrap around his midsection and dig into his skin. He grabbed the whip with one hand and began to pull. Several of the men on board moved to help him. Indy was concentrating on keeping his legs going when he was suddenly tackled from behind. His death grip on his whip held firm as he flew, face first, into the dirt and rolled on his side to see that one of the lionesses had run him down. The bus moved forward again and, as Indy was dragged out from under her, claws raked his side and legs. His slide halted suddenly, and, looking back at the bus, Indy realized that his fall had almost pulled Sisho out of the back. A thick knot of men had him by the pants and ankles. Sisho now held onto the whip with both hands, keeping it around his waist. The lioness leaped for him again, just as the slack in the whip disappeared and Indy rocketed away behind the bus again, scraping along the dry dirt road.

  
Dust and dirt clouded Indy's view of the bus, but he could feel the men pulling Sisho and himself towards the door. The lioness, able to see Indy clearly in the spotlight, chased after him. This time, when she leapt, Indy kicked his feet wildly, defending himself as much as possible, but the lioness clawed his legs violently and took home a piece of his pants leg in her teeth. She fell behind again and regrouped for another charge. The road tore Indy open even more, but he tried to let his jacket take most of the abuse. He felt himself being lifted from the ground suddenly and he held on grimly, kicking at the lioness as she closed again. Finally, he was in the air and then the bus riders pulled him inside, where he collapsed against Sisho. Indy drew deep, relieved breaths for a moment before speaking.

  
"Thanks..." he huffed, "for not letting go."

  
"No thanks neccessary," Sisho said, smiling and catching his breath, "I know how difficult it is to catch a bus out here." 

  
Indy chuckled, despite the pain in his chest and legs, and stood under his own power. He turned to close the emergency door and saw the lioness running for the door, still intent on her well- lit prey. Indy quickly pulled it shut and watched the lioness skid to a stop, then turn and run back in the other direction. The spotlight from the jeep turned back to the lionesses decimating the dogs and men and was then no more than a white smudge in the distance.  
  
"Junior!" Henry yelled when he saw Indy get off the bus. He waved his hand so his son could find him in the torch- bearing crowd gathering around the bus' doors. Indy did see him and waved back, but he was immediately grabbed and led, once again at gunpoint, into Tarana's hut. Indy was immediately aware of the dogs and forced his eyes to stay away from them. Tarana lounged on a bed of animal hides, stretching to show off her flat stomach and lean hips. Indy squinted through the torchlight at her, trying to find some trace of wrinkles or crow's feet on her face, but there were none. She asked him something in Zulu and, while Sisho had not made his way through the crowd yet, he knew what she wanted. He pulled the spearhead from his haversack and held it out. Tarana was up immediately and reverently took it from him.

  
Indy ached. He was bleeding pretty badly and he wanted a bath. He turned to leave as Sisho entered the hut and spoke to Tarana. Indy tried to move past him, but was gently restrained. Sisho obviously wanting him around for this discussion that he could not understand. The coincierge indicated the doctor's wounds and Indy heard L'Araan Swakaywe's name mentioned a few times. Tarana became genuinely concerned and, for a moment, Indy thought that she suddenly looked a little too... _wizened_ for the teenager he'd pegged her for.

  
Tarana spoke after a long silence and Sisho escorted Indy out of the hut. 

  
"I will have your wounds tended, Doctor Jones. Tarana extends her thanks and the thanks of our people."

  
"That's good to know," Indy said as Henry, Bruce and Elise drew up short of him and gaped at his shredded pants, bloody legs and dirty clothes..

  
"There is news that you will enjoy less, though," Sisho said quickly, knowing Indy would soon be plagued with questions from his friends. "Tarana also wishes you to be her honored guest at the ceremony tomorrow."

  
"Sisho, I told you we're not going to be here when it doesn't rain."

  
"I am just relaying her commands. Everyone here is up just after dawn. If you wish to leave, do it before sunrise, please. It won't make her quite so angry at me for letting you slip away."

  
Indy smiled conspiritorially. "You know, for a guy who tried to kill me yesterday, you're not so bad."

  
"Nor you for a white man," Sisho said smiling. "I am glad things worked out as well as they have."

  
Henry wasn't able to stand being silent anymore. His forehead wrinkled and mouth agape, he finally asked: "Junior, what happened to you?"

  
"I'll be fine, Dad. I just need some cleaning up."

  
"This way," Sisho said.

  
"Did you find it?" asked Bruce.

  
"You look like hell," said Elise.

  
"Yes and thank you," Indy said.   
  
After getting many bandages and stinging herbs placed on his torn up legs, Indy finally got to the end of his story about his hunt for the spear.

  
"Sisho could have found it himself," he said with a yawn as he stretched out on his little piece of the floor in Sisho's hut. "If the police would have ever given him access to Dermlaff's records. It was actually pretty easy... Except for the snake... and the lions."

  
"And the dogs," added Sisho, bedding down with his wife.

  
"Yeah, the magic dogs, too..." Indy said with a laugh. 

  
"I don't understand something," Elise said. "If the predators out there are attracted to light because they can see what they're hunting better, how are you able to make fires in your village out here?"

  
"Our hunters killed all the predators in this area long ago," Sisho said. "We have our territory just as the lions have theirs. But this drought HAS made them bolder. Shaka's wrath is affecting all things. I suggest waking me as soon as you hear anything."

  
"Shaka's wrath," Indy scoffed, laying his head on his rolled up jacket and pulling his hat over his face.

  
Henry did not share his son's easy dismissal. He wondered how Henry Jr. could have seen things like the cup of Christ and the ark of the Covenant and still be so skeptical. Of course, had he known what he was getting into in either case, he probably wouldn't have bothered. Maybe that skepticism kept him alive. Maybe God loves disbelievers. In any case, Henry paid heed to Sisho's warning as they all turned in and he slept with one ear open...

  
...Which is why he was doubly shocked at what they found in the morning.

*****

There was a breeze, ever so slight, that creeped in from the ocean and pressed, unhindered, across the African plain and into the Zulu village where the three doctors and the pilot were emerging into the darkness of early morning. Wordlessly, they left Sisho's hut and trotted in a single file line to the far side of the village where the two trucks were parked along with the old, dirty bus. The quartet crouched behind the first truck they came to and listened. No sound disturbed the village except for the occasional flapping of skins used as doors or shutters on the huts. Using hand signals, Indy told Bruce to take the second truck while he, Henry and Elise took the first one.  
"Nobody wants to ride with me?" Bruce asked in a raspy whisper.

  
"Are you kidding?" Indy whispered back, allowing himself a smile now that their goal was in sight. "Then we might SMELL like you, too."

  
Bruce smiled back. "Nice pants," he said, referring to Indy's shredded garment, even though he couldn't see them.

  
"Shouldn't we stay quiet?" Elise whispered. Suddenly, a low, mournful howl swelled from the village.

  
"Tarana's dogs..." whispered Bruce.

  
"Dammit! C'mon!" said Indy as he raced for the truck door. Everyone followed suit, with Bruce heading for the second truck.

  
"That doesn't sound like an alarm to me," Elise said as Henry opened the passenger door for her. "It sounds sad."

  
"It's still going to wake everybody up," Indy said, climbing into the driver's seat and using the orange light of pre-dawn to look around for the keys. He saw Bruce doing the same. Bruce looked over at him and shrugged. Indy checked the visor - nothing. He reached past Henry and Elise to check the glovebox - nothing. Finally, he found them under the seat. With a relieved grin, he held them up for Bruce to see, but Bruce had found his already and was holding his up for Indy... ony he wasn't looking at Indy. He was looking straight ahead. So was Henry... so was Elise. Slowly, expecting the villagers to be holding the machine guns on them, Indy turned to look out the front of the truck. 

  
Another long, low howl weaved through the huts as the sun broke the horizon and lit the pile of carcasses in their path. Zebras, lions, wildebeasts and other plains animals both large and small - even an elephant - were just lying in the road. Indy looked around for another way out of the village and shivered through a moment of queaziness when he realized that the whole settlement was completely surrounded by dead animals. Scores of bodies lay on their sides and backs... piled on top of one another, forming a barrier five to eight feet high. A wall of death.

  
Henry opened his door and got out.

  
"Dad!" Indy whispered.

  
"Well you aren't just going to drive through them, are you?" was Henry's response. Elise followed him out of the truck. Indy glanced over at Bruce, who shrugged and got out as well. Indy joined them at the wall.

  
The animals were all the bony, starved creatures from the nearby plains. They did not leak blood, they did not yet smell... it was as if they had all gathered around the huts in the middle of the night, formed a perfect circle and then drifted off to sleep- permanently.

  
A twin huffing turned Indy's attention to the dogs walking up behind him. Their heads were low, their tails tucked under. Tarana followed them with an angry, wide- eyed stare at the spectacle. No one said anything for many moments as the dogs snuffled among the dead, whining. They made a rough, non- thorough circuit of the wall and returned to lay down at Tarana's feet. The breeze had picked up slightly and was fondling the ends of her wild, slept- on hair.

  
"Shaka," she said. It was what they were all thinking. Indy fought for an argument- something along the line of a veterinary coroner's report. Then, an explanation presented itself.

  
"Taranaaaaaaaaaaa!" called an ancient, booming voice. Henry looked up. Elise looked behind them. Bruce looked to Tarana, who was looking in the same direction as Indy, for both of them had heard this voice before.

  
Standing in his beat up Jeep, several hundred yards down the road from the village, was L' Araan Swakaywe, his long gray beard catching the breeze. He boomed in Zulu to Tarana, who appeared genuinely frightened. Although he couldn't translate, Indy knew what the basic jist was. Swakaywe was telling her this carnage was Shaka's doing. Indy felt sure that Swakaywe and his men, wherever they were now, had killed all these animals in the night... somehow.

  
A bleary- eyed Sisho appeared with several other villagers just then. They solemnly gazed at the animals and cast furtive glances to Swakaywe. Sisho confirmed Indy's suspicions about the wizard's allegations and translated Tarana's retorting that this was all his fault for trying to control Shaka in the first place. Swakaywe was to stay away from the village until after the rain fell.

  
"Shaka will not be bound by you!" Swakaywe called back. "He has bound you instead! You will not ever leave the village! Your arrogance will kill you! Give me the Spear of Nkulunkulu. I will save you!"

  
"No!" Tarana yelled. Her dogs growled their support. "You seek to make Shaka your slave and he will destroy you. Our ancestors will drag him back to the spirit world and refresh our own. This does not concern you. The spear will stay here and you will be gone!" With that, Tarana turned and marched back to her hut, trailing her dogs. Swakaywe stared after her for a moment, then dropped down behind the Jeep's steering wheel and drove away.

  
"This is very bad," Sisho said. "Shaka has marked the entire village for death."

  
"Come on," Indy said. "Swakaywe and his men did this."

  
"As I recall," Sisho said, "Swakaywe's men were being subdued by liones the last we saw of them. And these... corpses... did not die by any natural means. Look, there is no blood."

  
"Good," said Indy, still focused on getting away. "I don't need anymore on me anyway. Help me move some of these so we can leave already."

  
"No!" Sisho stepped in front of Indy. "These bodies are cursed! Do not touch them!"

  
Indy sneered. He looked back at his father and Elise, who only looked back at him, worried. Bruce, however, was pulling on a pair of gloves and looking at Indy. Indy pulled his own gloves out of his hip- pack and put them on. "I'll just wear my curse- proof gloves, then."

  
"You will believe, Doctor Jones, when the ancestors reclaim Shaka and bring us rain."

  
"Sisho, it's going to rain anyway. That breeze is coming in off the ocean. These animals- look at them- they're dehydrated! They were no match for Swakaywe and his men last night, whatever they did to them." With that, Indy and Bruce grabbed a cheetah by the legs and tossed it to the side of the road.

  
"They were quite a match for you last night," Sisho said.

  
"That's what wore them out." Indy kept his back to Sisho as he and Bruce prepared to drag a zebra away.

  
Sisho watched them in silence for a moment before speaking. "The power of your denial is great and terrible," he said. "I hope you live long enough to disown it." The former concierge calmly walked away. 

  
Henry watched him go with a growing uneasiness in his chest. Even if they left, what was gong to happen here? The boy could be right. That breeze may well bring rain, but it may die out just as easily. He couldn't possibly be right about the old man and some servants bloodlessly killing all these animals and bringing them here in silence in the middle of the night, though...

  
"Dad, you wanna give us a hand?" Indy asked, having dislodged the zebra.

  
"I think you should listen to him," he said.

  
"What?" Indy stopped, letting the zebra's legs drop. Bruce held onto his pair.

  
"I think we should wait until after it rains," Elise said.

  
"But it's not goin-" Indy's hat lifted off on the increasingly strong wind before he could finish his retort. He caught it and shoved it down on his head. He looked at Bruce, who was willing to do whatever Indy wanted. He looked at Henry and Elise, holding hands and both a little frightened.

  
"Look," Indy said finally. "Why don't you two go back to Sisho's hut and Bruce and I will clear a path. We'll come and get you when we're ready to go." Henry wrapped his arm around Elise and complied. 

  
Almost an hour later, Indy and Bruce stared at the prone elephant, trying to think of a plan. Indy was just remembering what he liked so much about Bruce, his silent, amiable agreement, when the pilot jumped on the bandwagon.

  
"I don't pretend to know one way or the other, Indy," he said. "But I've been around. Not as much as you, granted, but I've been around... and I have never... NEVER seen anything like this."

  
"There ARE stranger things," Indy said. 

  
"Like what?"

  
Indy's mind ran through numerous things- the Ark, the Grail, the Sankara Stones... all manner of treasures he'd hunted only to find that their legendary powers were true. All sorts of things that certainly WERE stranger than dead animals, but none of which would point AWAY from Shaka Zulu coming back from the dead to wreak havoc on his impoverished descendants. He decided to change the subject.

  
"Maybe we can clear some more of these smaller animals away and just drive around the elephant."

  
Just then, a Jeep appeared on the horizon. Surely, Swakaywe wasn't coming back to threaten them some more. No, this Jeep was reflecting the sun with a fine wax job and there were at least two people inside that Indy could see.  
Sisho walked up to stand beside Indy. "King Bonatom," he said ominously. "Tarana will start the ritual now. Which means, of course, that you'll have to join us, Doctor Jones."

  
Indy sighed into the strengthening wind. "Of course," he said. It was going to rain anyway, so why fight it anymore? The sooner it rained, the sooner he could go. Fine.

  
  
Near the northern end of the village was a wooden shelter with a thatch roof that was used primarily as a gathering place for the residents. In the middle stood Tarana, wearing a huge mask like the one Swakaywe had been wearing in his office. This one was a little different in form and decoration, however, and the fading colors told of the many years it had served as a decoration in Tarana's hut. The crest of Nkulunkulu rode the top of the mask and spilled back over Tarana's head. In her right hand, she held a staff topped with the stone spearhead Indy had brought her. This was now the Spear of Zulu. Her dogs lay nearby, still unnerved by the death around them. Beside her, King Bonatom, a rotund man very obviously not living the same life as his subjects, wore a mask like Tarana's. Again, the design was only slightly different. Near them, two men sat with their legs crossed, keeping a soft, steady beat on the skin and wood drums in front of them. The villagers circled their witch, their king and the drummers, silently praying along with them. Indy stood right in front of Tarana, studying the masks and the villager's reaction to the ceremony as the two masks mumbled, danced around, chanted and occasionally shouted to the sky.

  
"Those are M'pande and Dingaan," Henry said. He had worked his way through the crowd to stand beside his son.  
"Shaka's half brothers?" Indy asked, looking around and spotting Elise and Bruce where he'd last seen them at the back.

  
"Yes," Henry continued in a low voice. "The ceremony is wonderfully complex. Apparently, the idea is that Tarana and King Bonatom _become_ M'pande and Dingaan. Those two actually speak to Zulu and ask him to take Shaka back to the spirit world. Then, the king asks Zulu to ask Nkulunkulu for rain."

  
"Complex is right. Where did you learn this?" 

  
"Some of us have managed to remember that we're scientists and educate ourselves during our time here."

  
"...well, congratulations," Indy sneered. He couldn't believe his father was going to lecture him now, but he could hear that haughty, scholastic rise in his voice that signalled intellectual reprimand. What an ingrate.

  
"You know, you will never be too old to learn something new, Junior."

  
Here it comes... Indy looked away from the ritual to keep from having Henry even in his peripheral vision during the rest of this. He let the wind push his jacket collar up on his neck and looked out over the ring of people praying for life, over the ring of dead animals, to the two Jeeps just beyond.

  
"For instance," continued Henry. "Did you know that out here..."

  
"There are two Jeeps..." Indy said.

  
"Er, what?"

  
"There are two Jeeps, Dad." Henry followed Indy's gaze. Sure enough, Swakaywe's dirty, battered Jeep was parked next to the King's. The driver of the King's Jeep was in the crowd here, somewhere. But where was Swakaywe? The drum tempo picked up suddenly and the daylight dimmed noticably. Clouds born gray blotted out the sun as they sprouted out of nothing and blossomed over the village and the surrounding land.

  
Then, that voice again. Swakaywe's booming invaded the chanting and, as Indy and Henry turned to the Zulu leaders, a third mask joined them. This was Swakaywe, wearing the (now repaired) mask from his office, and shouting to be heard above Tarana, King Bonatom and the howling wind. The former two were lost in their prayers and seemed not to notice the invasion. The villagers were frozen, not wanting to challenge the wizard. The dogs scampered away, whining.

  
Indy considered grabbing Swakaywe, but should he? Swakaywe seemed to simply be posturing and praying like the other two, but his cadence was more urgent, his tone more demanding. Then, he yanked the spear from Tarana's hand and held it up. The witch froze. The wind ceased immedately. The drummers stopped playing.

  
Sisho pushed between Indy and Henry with an inarticulate yell and rushed Swakaywe. He grabbed the spear and pulled, but the wizard held fast and continued his chanting. The two of them twisted the spear around- each trying to foil the other's grasp. Then, the spearhead burst through Sisho's back. A woman screamed. Indy and Henry ran forward and caught him as he crumpled to the ground. They started to drag him back towards the villagers, but Sisho grabbed Indy by his shirt and pulled him close. Blood ran in a steady stream out of his mouth as he fought for breath.

  
"Get... the spear... to Tarana," he said. Indy looked back at Swakaywe, holding the bloody spear like some kind of tyrant. Power seemed to surge through him. His old muscles bulged with renewed youth... in fact, he didn't look much like an old wizard at all.

  
"Dad, get him out of here." 

  
Several villagers were already moving to help Henry, bringing cloth compresses and herbs. Indy turned back to the ceremony to see Tarana looking around wildly and swatting at things that weren't there. King Bonatom was looking to the petrified villagers for help. As the King, stopping this was his duty, but, as a man, he cowered before the wizard's power. Realizing he was now in total control, Swakaywe removed his mask.

  
"Shaka!" went up a unanimous cry. Villagers fell to their knees or turned and ran at the sight of the legendary King Shaka, warrior king of the old Zulu nation. His muscles rippled with power, straining the small ceremonial shift of the wizard who had worn it only seconds before. His nostrils flared with his first physical breaths in over a century and his gaze burned with scorn and hatred. He held the spear of Zulu next to himself like a flag- a symbol of his return to his kingdom.

  
Indy's jaw dropped. Sisho had said to get the spear to Tarana. He hadn't said anything about having to fight Shaka Zulu for it. 

  
Shaka turned his scowl to King Bonatom, who was backing away. Indy reached down and yanked his whip free of it's strap. As Shaka pulled the spear back and jabbed it at Bonatom's belly, the whip wrapped around his wrist and pulled, sending the spear across Bonatom's shoulder. The King shrieked and staggered backwards. Shaka quickly grabbed the whip in his opposite hand and looked at it. He looked down its length to find Indiana Jones planting his feet and yanking again. The curator, however, was no match for the warrior king and Shaka held his ground with out moving. A snap of his powerful arm pulled Indy into the air and sent him crunching to the ground at Shaka's feet, one of which, promptly sank into the base of Indy's spine. Shaka whirled the spear to point it at Indy's back. Indy grabbed Shaka's other foot with both hands and sank his teeth into Shaka's ankle.

  
An unearthly roar escaped Shaka and Indy let go as the spear drove into the ground next to the dead king's foot, where Indy had been just a second before. Shaka, needing to take the weight off his foot, stood up on Indy's back, cracking it. Indy twisted, throwing Shaka off balance and sending him crashing into Tarana, who screamed and started to run away, but froze and looked around again, as if surrounded by things only she could see. 

  
Bonatom, meanwhile, was ignoring his bleeding shoulder. He had resumed praying with several of the villagers and the wind was picking up again. Henry and Elise were helping the villagers attending Sisho, but were having a hard time not watching the spectacle in the shelter. Bruce had pulled his pistol out and was trying to line up a shot on Shaka.

  
"Don't!" yelled Henry. "Shaka took over the wizard's body. You may kill the wizard, too." Bruce pulled his gun back and ran towards the fray.

  
Indy and Shaka were on equal footing now, circling each other. Shaka jabbed the spear at Indy, but the doctor was staying just beyond strike range. Indy pulled his revolver out and pointed it at Shaka. 

  
"NO!" Bruce yelled as Indy put two bullets into Shaka's belly. The crashes quieted everything but the wind. Shaka's expression was one of shock that faded gradually as the two slugs reappeared at the mouth of the holes they'd made and fell to the ground. Shaka smiled. Indy gulped. Shaka jumped at Indy, aiming the spear for his heart. Indy dodged to the right, hooked his left arm over the spear shaft and twisted left, pulling himself to the ground. Shaka had to let go of the spear and jump over Indy to keep his balance and did so with the grace of a cat, landing on his hands and feet. Indy stood quickly and grabbed Tarana's hand, causing her to scream in his face. He quickly closed her fist around the shaft and turned his own fists back to Shaka in time to see a handfull of dirt flying at his eyes. Indy dropped his head and let most of it bounce off his hat brim. He looked back up in time to catch a neck- snapping fist in his jaw. He was suddenly dizzy. He tried to focus on keeping his feet, but his eyes shut, he staggered and fell to his back. 

  
His swimming vision slowly solidified as he watched the sky darken through the smoke-hole in the center of the shelter roof. The drums and the chanting had started again. He rolled his head to the side and could see Shaka stalking Tarana as she got her wits about her and fended him off with the spear. She began her chanting prayer and Shaka charged her. She swiped at him, drawing a bright red gash across his chest... which did not heal. Shaka looked at it incredulously and Tarana laughed and taunted him in Zulu. He said something back to her and calmly circled her. Indy lay where he had fallen and waited. Tarana was going to have slip back into her trance to finish her part of the ceremony and she was going to have to be safe from Shaka while she did it. As Shaka passed by him, Indy rolled up to his knees and forced his fist into the man's genitals. Again, all fell silent. Several villagers moaned in sympathy. Bruce mumbled "Damn..." from the back of the remaining crowd. Shaka, frozen at the moment of impact, grunted long and low and looked down at Indy, who scrambled to his feet and jumped between the witch and the warrior. Without wasting time, he socked Shaka in the face with a right/left combo, both of which Shaka took like a lead punching bag. Indy winced as pain shot through his hands. Shaka only became angrier as the drums and chanting resumed.

  
With a cry of rage, the Zulu warlord fired another fist at the doctor, but Indy dodged. Shaka began a rapid succession of swings, forcing Indy to maneuver away from Tarana. When, at last, he felt he had a clear shot, he reached for the spear. Indy grabbed his arm with both hands, keeping him back as Tarana lapsed into her trance. Shaka used his free hand to punch Indy in the ribs with enough force to crack them. Indy yelped. Again, Shaka pounded his ribs. Again. Again. Indy gritted his teeth, planted his feet and hoped Tarana was almost done.  
Suddenly, Shaka's onslaught ceased. Someone else was holding his other arm. Indy and Shaka both looked at the secured arm to find it bound by another powerful Zulu warrior. This one was wearing King Bonatom's silk clothes, sans mask. Behind him, the villagers who had been praying with Bonatom, kept up their chanting, watching the spectacle with wide eyes.

  
"M'pande!" Shaka said in horror. He shook Indy off his arm and swung at his half- brother. Indy crumpled to the ground, clutching his ribs. Behind him, he heard Tarana's voice deepen and, a second later, another man, Dingaan, no doubt, stepped past him, wearing Tarana's shift and tossing her mask aside. As Shaka pounded his knee into M'pande's midsection in the dwindling light, Dingaan approached them and thrust the spear into Shaka's back.   
Lightning flashed, splashing harsh white light on Shaka's startled, pained face as he fell to his knees. The drum cadence and chanting was at a fever pitch. Dingaan removed the spear and handed it to his brother. As the last ray of sunlight, floating down through the smoke- hole, faded out, M'pande flipped the spear point-down and drove it through Shaka's heart. 

  
Everything fell into pitch black silence...  
  
The wind moaned through the village, sending sheets of dust and pebbles rattling against the wooden structures. Indy lay where he was and lowered his head. His left side throbbed, but it wasn't so bad if he didn't breathe. A hissing came to his ears and for just a second, panic flashed through him. But it was not a reptilian hiss. It was the sound of water falling lightly on the thatch roof of the shelter. The villagers began to call out in surprise, in shock and in thankfulness. Some laughed. Then, as though the Zulu ancestors had tipped over a bucket, rain roared down on the village. It beat on the roof of the shelter with such force, that it ripped holes in the thatch, soaking Indy in a matter of seconds. 

  
A woman's voice cut through the dark downpour with a triumphant, sustained note. Other voices joined hers in measure and the village rose in song. The drummers found their instruments and provided them with a beat. Soon, the whole village was singing a humble, happy song of thanks into the dark rain.

  
"Indy?" 

  
"Over here, Bruce." 

  
The pilot shuffled slowly through the shelter and found Indy when he stepped on his foot. Indy could only muster enough strength to whimper.

  
"Sorry."

  
The initial downpour slacked off to steady sheets and sunlight began to seep back through the clouds. Bruce helped Indy to his feet as the trio in the middle of the shelter became visible. Tarana was herself again, but her hair was stark white. King Bonatom, appeared to be the same again, standing reverently over the prone body of Swakaywe, with the Spear of Zulu still buried in his chest. 

  
Tarana turned to Indy, revealing deep creases around her mouth and eyes... and she smiled. 

*****

Indy was on his third glass of champagne before his father found him.

  
"What a success, Junior!" he beamed. "The reporters are absolutely stupefied by the dioramas!"

  
Indeed they were. Everyone attending the Museum of Natural History's Grand Opening was in awe of the African exhibits- both the Avian and the Zulu. The exhibits had gotten back with only a day to spare and crews had worked non- stop, with Indy and Henry switching off the supervisory position in shifts to get the place ready. The final Zulu warrior's pinky toes had been polished just as the doors opened. As narrow a margin as the Joneses had ever succeeded by.

  
They had been held up in Durban by Chief Inspector Reinhold, who wanted partly to throttle Indy and partly to pat himself on the back for "obtaining" a confession from the Zulu man that had been captured right after Delks' murder. After days asleep, the man had awakened and told the authorities the entire story- just as expected. There was, however, the concierge. The prisoner had implicated Sisho as what the Chief Inspector had referred to as "a mastermind." Indy had wanted to defend the man who had saved him, but the truth was, Sisho HAD been involved. Also truthfully, Indy told the Chief Inspector that he had not seen Sisho since the incident at the village. Said incident was refferred to by local British papers as a native ritualistic slaughtering of the wildlife that would be the focus of further Christian missions in Africa. The freak two- day downpour across the plains was regarded as a simple turn in the weather.

  
As Indy stared at the Zulu exhibit, enjoying the alcohol buzz between his ears, he realized how close he was to wrapping it all up in a similar manner. So many miles away, amid so much concrete and with the sea of Anglican faces churning around him, it was becoming increasingly easy to write it all off. He twisted to look away from the exhibit and his fractured ribs reminded him otherwise.

  
"Easy, boy," Henry said, noticing Indy's grimace.

  
A gavel- like pounding echoed through the museum and everyone turned their attention to Trevor Berkshire, the chairman of the museum's board of directors. He stood at a grand oak podium on a small dias. Behind him, in a line were the other members of the museum board, including Elise Saviougn. When things were more or less quiet, Trevor spoke in a rumbly voice that carried easily through the halls.

  
"Ladies and gentlemen, thank you so much for coming out this evening and for your generous donations thus far. I can tell you are all as excited as I am about the new exhibits and the promise of a very good season for the museum. As some of you are aware, this little soirre has a twofold purpose- the museum's opening, of course, and the welcoming of our new Curator, Doctor Henry Jones.

  
Henry smiled self- conciously and approached the podium. Indy sighed with relief over his father taking the position. Indy had taken it out of respect for and his agreement to Marcus, but he had a soft spot for the classroom that wasn't sitting well with the Curator position. When he had brought this discomfort up in Durban, as they were boarding their plane, Henry had scolded him. 

  
"You can't go back on your promise, Junior. Who knows what they might replace you with. Besides, Marcus asked and you accepted."

  
Switching off the suporvisor's position had whetted Henry's appetite, though. He had long since gotten over spouting off to a classroom and secretly yearned for a position that would afford him a little more respect and dignity. He had organized his retirement (which should have been three years ago, according to the University) quickly and arranged for a substitute to hand out the final exam to his class. Marcus would approve, they'd concurred, and so, they had informed Trevor Berkshire of their decision only that afternoon.

  
Henry ascended the platform to applause and gave a quick speech thanking the board and the eThikwini Museum in Durban, who, due to Britain's war efforts, were unable to send a representative. It was Henry's job to fill the crowd in on the story behind the dioramas and, as he did so, a strangely familiar man approached Indy. He was wearing a tuxedo, like everyone else, but he seemed as uncomfortable in formalwear as Indy himself did. The man was clean shaven and had a brand- new haircut, but beyond that, he really looked like-

  
"Bruce?" Indy asked as the man stopped near him and dug into his collar to loosen it.

  
"You act like I was born needing a bath," the pilot smirked.

  
"That's long been my opinion." Indy snatched two flutes of bubbly from a passing waitress and, after appraising her with a quick, trained eye, handed one of them to his friend.

*****  
  
Tarana scratched the head of the dog nearest her, prompting the other one to get up and make its way to her, whining. Tarana's other hand was full, though. It held the spearhead that had, for the second time, killed King Shaka of the Zulu.

  
"That is a dangerous piece of stone," observed Sisho, sitting across from her, behind his new desk in the office of the Durban Snake Farm. Stubble covered his face now and, soon, it would a beard bushy enough to conceal his true identity from casual observation. As the late wizard was now buried near their village, Sisho would take advantage of the prestigious position and pass himself off as Swakaywe. Once again, he was the tribe's man in town.  
"It is dangerous," the witch conceded. "Or terribly useful."

  
"You sound like Swakaywe," Sisho said. Tarana glared up at him from under her wild, white hair, but said nothing. He was right, of course. Still, with Sisho in a position to pull in so much money for the tribe, perhaps the Zulu could be organized into some kind of power again, as Shaka had done. That would be great indeed. And if she could achieve such greatness, might an artifact like this be able to return her to the earth one day - long after she had died? The idea alone filled out a wrinkle or two.

  
"I do not mean to try to use Shaka as a tool," she said, gazing at the spearhead. "More like... an inspiration..."

Dusty Fedora


End file.
